


tied up like two ships

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, lots of hand-holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2018-01-24 03:39:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1590344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean liked to hold hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tied up like two ships

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【授权翻译】TiedUp Like Two Ships 十指紧扣](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3527411) by [CoraT](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoraT/pseuds/CoraT)



> This was meant to be a drabble (inspired by a gifset on tumblr that was Sam and Dean + hands) but then it got...somehow longer than that. It's a bit messy and weirdly formed but ah well!
> 
> First thing I've ever written on my iPad! Touch screens are horrid.
> 
> Yes, the title is from a 1D song.

 

 

Sam knew that Dean liked to hold hands during.

Sam thought it was odd at first, or at least unexpected, but now he was used to it. When Dean was braced above him or behind him, pushing in and hissing through clenched teeth, Sam would spread his fingers open on the sheets and wait for Dean's hands to slide clumsily over his wrists and slot into place against Sam's. It was simply part of their routine now, part of what they did when the lights went off at the end of the day. But it wasn't always.

The whole hand-holding thing was most surprising the first time they had sex. They'd both been trying so hard to pretend that this wasn't what they were doing, trying to pretend that there was someone else there doing this with them, someone who wasn't a brother. Sam had been staring blankly off into the darkness of the warehouse, Dean's head tucked down into the side of his neck and his body plastered all along Sam's front, pressing him back against the metal strut. They were in the middle of the room, three dead demons sprawled a few feet away, a gash down Sam's leg slowly saturating his jeans with blood, and Dean's hand was shoved down between their bodies, fishing Sam's cock out of his open fly. His fingers were shaking and Sam had never been harder in his life, the hurting pulse of his leg fading into the background next to the throb of his dick against Dean's hand--and then Dean's cock, because Dean's jeans were open too and he was fumbling them together, pressed up tight in his fist. He pulled them off fast and silent, letting out only shuddering breaths against Sam's throat. Sam was the one who couldn't stay quiet, whimpering and moaning through the whole thing like a trapped animal, unable to keep his mouth shut. But he didn't say Dean's name, couldn't even look at him to acknowledge this was happening. He felt like he was floating, like he wasn't really in his own body and this was happening to someone else, the pleasure distant and disconnected at the same time that it was all he could feel, all he could register. 

And then Dean's free hand was grabbing at his arm, pushing it up from his side and over his head, pressing his wrist back against the metal, his hand sliding up to lace their fingers together. He squeezed, fingers digging into the space between Sam's knuckles and Sam squeezed back, helplessly. They burst just like that, Dean first, spurting hot over his own fist and Sam's cock and Sam following a second later, his mind utterly blank except for a fog of confusion.

They didn't talk about it, not then and not in the weeks that followed, when it started happening more and more. In the back of his mind Sam had convinced himself that they were just blowing off steam, using up excess adrenaline after a hunt or a near death experience. He'd convinced himself that it made sense, that it was basically one step up from rubbing one out in the shower after a tough night. But it didn't feel like that, not when Sam was on his knees in the dirt, trying to figure out how girls could do this without choking themselves, Dean's eyes closed and his head turned away but his hands, his hands wrapped around Sam's like a lifeline. 

They didn't speak during. It was an unofficial rule, but one that they followed nonetheless. It broke the first time Dean fucked him, facedown on Dean's hotel bed, their clothes still on, jeans and boxers yanked down their thighs.

Sam let Dean push him down onto the bed, let Dean spread his legs and look at him, even though the thought of what Dean was seeing, what Dean wanted, made his gut feel hot and shivery, like he was going to throw up or maybe just vibrate out of his skin. Dean hesitated, paused with his hand cold on the curve of Sam's upper thigh, his thumb pulling at Sam's ass, pulling him open slightly. 

"Sammy," Dean said, and Sam almost jumped off the bed and ran because that was what his brother sounded like when he was turned on, and his voice was lower than Sam had thought possible, shaking like he was just as scared of this as Sam was. "Have you--have you done this before?"

He ran the pad of his thumb over Sam's hole, pushing ever so gently and Sam twitched into the touch, nerves flayed wide open.

"Yes," Sam gasped into the pillow. He'd never told Dean that, never told anyone about the party at Stanford and the guy he'd met up with twice after that before he met Jess and fell in love. "Yes, I have, I wanna--"

They were quiet after that, quiet while Dean worked him open, his thick, lube-slick fingers pressing into him, so slowly and surely that Sam felt like he could come with that alone. His head was sideways on the pillow but his eyes were closed; if he looked back and saw Dean there he was afraid that it might become too real, that somehow Dean would disappear or one of them would realize what they were doing and call an end to it. He didn't want it to end. Dean hadn't even touched his cock yet but it was swollen and urgent between his legs anyway and he felt empty when Dean pulled his fingers out. His hands clenched in the sheets, searching for something more substantial to hold onto. 

This isn't just blowing off steam, he thought crazily as the wet head of Dean's cock bumped up against his ass. This is so far from that, this is so wron--

Sam had expected Dean to just fuck his way in fast, get it over with so it was easier for him to pretend that it wasn't his brother underneath him, but Dean was so slow that Sam could feel every inch of the burn of it, Dean making a space for himself inside Sam's body. It felt like Dean was pushing all of his breath out of him, leaving him gasping and oversensitive, trying to get used to something he hadn't felt in years. Of course it hadn't felt quite like this back then and Sam almost cried when Dean fell forward onto back and slid his hands over Sam's, fingers falling into the space between Sam's splayed ones. 

They held onto each other when Dean started to move, held on when Sam freed one hand to curl around his own cock, jerking himself off in time with Dean's thrusts. They were still holding on when Sam came, clenching hard around Dean, and Dean set his teeth to the back of Sam's neck and let go, hammering into him, knocking small noises out of Sam's mouth. They were still holding on, holding hands, when Dean finished, muffling his groan in the sweaty nape of Sam's neck, his hips twitching forward, grinding against Sam's ass like he was trying to push his come deeper into Sam's body, as if there wasn't the barrier of a condom between them. 

Sam winced when Dean pulled out and Dean paused, hovering over Sam's back, his softening cock pressed damp and intimate against Sam's ass, more than a little gross now with the condom still on.

"Sammy, you okay?" he asked. "I didn't--"

"I'm good, Dean," Sam replied, and at the sound of his own name, Dean jolted, his body moving up and away from Sam, their hands slipping apart. 

He didn't say anything else, and Sam felt the bed shift as Dean left it. Sam didn't move, panting into the pillow, too exhausted even to flinch when a wet washcloth dropped down onto the small of his back.

"Just in case you wanna clean up before bed," Dean said. His voice was still gruffer than usual, still sounding like sex even though he was clearly trying to move on from what just happened and pretend that it didn't happen at all. And jesus, sex, Sam had just had sex with his brother. 

He was no more equipped to deal with that than Dean was, so he just took the washcloth, cleaned himself off the best he could, and went to sleep alone in his own bed. 

The next morning Dean was acting even stranger than he normally did after. He drove them to a pharmacy, mumbling something about needing advil, and then hovered around in an aisle with a bunch of bottles of lotion for varying aches and pains in weird places until Sam said, "Dean, I'm fine!" At which point Dean got defensive and blustery--"What are you talking about, not everything's about you, Sam,"--and then stormed out of the pharmacy without buying any advil. They got five miles down the road in total silence before Dean mumbled, "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Just making sure."

And that was it. Until the next time a ghost haunting the very motel they were in almost took off Sam's head and Dean left the smoking remains of the locket that had been keeping the spirit there in an ashtray on the bedside table and wrestled Sam down onto the floor. Apparently their brand of normal now involved affirming that they were both still alive with Dean's dick up Sam's ass and their hands laced together.

It was Sam who finally moved it beyond sex that they refused to acknowledge. He was on his back and Dean was fucking him, harder than that first time, because he'd learned that Sam could take it, that Sam liked it like that. Dean's grip on his hand was almost painful, his weight pushing Sam further into the mattress. It was the first time they 'd done this with Sam on his back, Dean on top of him, and if only Dean weren't hiding his face in Sam's shoulder, they would be face to face. 

The thick punch of Dean's dick kept brushing against Sam's prostate and Sam's own cock was flattened between their stomaches, precome squeezing out of the slit with each push of Dean's hips until there was a pool of slick dribbling down Sam's chest and sticking him and Dean together. Everything felt good, mind-numbingly good, even the strain of his muscles when Dean hitched his legs up more securely around Dean's waist, bending him even more in half. It felt like the bones in their joined hands were grinding together, and suddenly all Sam could think of was that he couldn't see Dean's face, that he had never been able to see Dean's face when they did this.

"Dean," he breathed. "Dean, Dean."

If he'd stopped to think, he would've expected Dean to ignore him or maybe stop completely. But it was like Dean had forgotten that he was supposed to be denying that this was happening, because he raised his head at the sound of his name and his body didn't slow or pause, still rocking into Sam even as he stared down at him, eyes blown and his face alive with a hectic flush. Sam knew his brother was beautiful, had always known that, but it was different to feel it suddenly in his gut when Dean was looking at him like that, when their hands were wrapped up together, when Dean was inside him.

"Please, can you--" Sam gasped. "Kiss me, can you kiss me--"

It was like all Dean had been waiting for was to be asked--permission--because he let out a tiny, desperate sound and leaned in like a starving man being offered food. Their mouths collided, both half open and struggling to fit together for half a second before Dean tipped his head to the right angle, or maybe Sam did, and everything slotted into place in a hot haze, Dean's tongue slicking into his mouth to meet his. Once he started, Dean didn't seem to be able to stop, kissing him deep for long stretches and then pulling away to gasp for breath, diving back in to stab little kisses all over his mouth and face. 

This time, when they came, their hands weren't the only things pressed together, and Sam learned how his own name tasted in Dean's mouth as he gasped and shuddered above him. 

The next morning, Sam woke to the sound of the shower running and a cold spot on the bed next to him. They'd fallen asleep in the same bed last night, he realized. Usually Dean showered after they had sex and went to sleep his own bed and Sam showered in the morning. Sam lay there, staring at the mottled pattern of mold on the ceiling above him, and thought for a while. When he heard the bathroom door open, he sat up and met Dean's gaze. Dean gave a little start when he looked up and saw Sam there, watching him, then quickly bustled over to his duffel bag, his knuckles white where they were clenched in the towel around his waist. 

"Up and at 'em, Sammy," Dean said, faux-casual, the way he did every morning these days.

"Dean."

Dean glanced over his shoulder once, and then turned to face Sam. Maybe he could hear it in Sam's voice. His chest was heaving, like he'd run a marathon instead of having a shower.

"What?"

"Come here," Sam said.

Dean did, and when he got within reach, Sam reached out his hand, took Dean's, and then pulled him down so Sam could kiss him. It was short and awkward; Dean was unprepared, tensing against Sam and letting out a little muffled sound of confusion. Not protest though. Just confusion. Sam pulled back and looked up at Dean, who was bent over uncomfortably above him and gaping at Sam. His left hand had gone slack on his towel, and it was clearly about to slip right off his hips. His right hand was sweating in Sam's grasp.

"I want to do this," Sam said. "For real. Yeah?"

Dean was still for a long moment, frozen as if he hadn't even heard Sam speak, his eyes flicking from Sam's mouth to his eyes. For some reason, Sam wasn't nervous. There was a bone deep calm in him that said that this was going to be alright.

It was Dean who bent in for a kiss then, a little longer than the first.

"Yeah?" he said, and there was a smile in his voice that Sam hadn't heard in a long time.

"Yeah."

The argument that Sam had been expecting apparently didn't need to happen at all.    

There was quite a bit more sex after that, enough that Sam got used to Dean's particular needs. Sam knew that Dean liked to hold hands during. 

The surprise came when Sam realized that maybe Dean just wanted to hold hands. Full stop. Anytime. 

Things moved slowly with them when it came to this...relationship thing they were now in. It took a while before Dean felt comfortable enough to have a conversation where he mumbled that "if we're doing this, Sammy, it's just you and me, okay, no sleeping with anyone else". It took a few weeks after that for Dean to slowly get used to the idea of talking about the sex outside of the sex, at first just casually slipping things like "that's not what you said last night" into their conversations and then eventually getting to the point where he could wind Sam up in the middle of a case by muttering in Sam's ear about what he was going to do to him later while they were trying to interview a suspect. Sam remembered the first time Dean kissed him in public very well: he'd been trying to flag down a bartender to order drinks for him and Dean and some guy had started hitting on him. Sam had said all of four words to him--three of which were "sorry, i'm taken"--before Dean stalked up, slid his arms around Sam's waist and kissed him full on the mouth, before turning and glaring at the guy. It had pretty much been one of the best moments of Sam's life.

The absolute best though? Was when on one of their cases Dean introduced them by saying, "I'm Dean, and this is my boyfriend, Sam." Sam almost keeled over on the spot, only able to smile and nod when Dean reached out and took his hand, casual, like they held hands in broad daylight all the time.

"Why did you--" Sam started as they walked away to the car afterwards, hands still joined and swinging between them.

Dean blushed.

"Didn't you notice?" he blustered. "That witness was definitely gay. Thought it might make him more comfortable to talk to people in a gay relationship. That's--that's all."

For the next few weeks, Sam noticed that Dean was walking a little closer to him than normal, close enough that their hands brushed. It was almost like he was trying to catch Sam's hand in his own, except he never actually did. All Sam got was Dean's fingertips brushing against the back of his hand while they moved down the aisles of dingy corner stores and walked down the street while trailing suspects and sat in fields on stakeouts. When they were fucking, Dean went between crushing Sam's hand in his own like he was never going to let go and holding it so tenderly that Sam could cry, thumb stroking over the back of his hand and fingers laced protectively with his own. 

It had taken Sam a while to get to this point, to get Dean to the point where they could be together like this, be open like this. And one of the privileges of getting to this point with Dean was that Sam knew that he liked to hold hands during sex. But it wasn't until Sam slid his hand into Dean's in the middle of the frozen food aisle of a supermarket and watched his face turn a guilty, pleased shade of red that Sam knew for certain that Dean just liked to hold hands.  

"You're a giant girl, Sam," Dean mumbled, but he didn't take his hand out of Sam's. His palm was damp and comforting.

"Sure," Sam said, squeezing Dean's hand. "If you say so."

He was perfectly happy to add this to their routine as well. Because maybe Sam liked it too.


End file.
